


Overtime

by Kendrene



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bottom Lena Luthor, Butt Plugs, Daddy Dom Kara Danvers, Daddy Kink, Dom Kara, Dom Kara Danvers, Dom/sub, F/F, Office Sex, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Spanking, Strap-Ons, Sub Lena Luthor, Top Kara Danvers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22697677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendrene/pseuds/Kendrene
Summary: Because Lena Luthor may hate her job and love it, but she lives for the days Supergirl decides to roll her skirt up well past her thighs, and her stockings down. And she dies for what comes after; for the cold kiss of the glass tabletop through the thin material of her blouse as she’s bent over her desk, and for the dirty words that stream - filthy hot - next to her ear while Kara does with her whatever she deems fit.ORWhen work becomes too stressful for Lena, Kara is more than happy to help
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 31
Kudos: 597





	Overtime

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags, enjoy and irl don't be like this idiots - when fisting use lots of lube. 
> 
> Happy (early) Valentine's Day. 
> 
> \- Dren

Lena Luthor likes her job.

She has always flourished under pressure, and the quiet times at her desk, still working in the wee hours of the morning after everyone has left, perfectly offset that adrenaline rush. The challenge of a new problem and the sense of euphoria when she can work out a solution. She looks forward to the trans-Pacific flights that take her to L-Corp’s Hong Kong subsidiary at least once a month – stretches of a dozen or so hours during which her chrome-finished private jet chases the sun. She gets more done during those times than when she’s in her office 9 to 5, her thoughts hurtling at top speed across the sky.

Then, there’s the business luncheons and the galas, and the fine dining with groups of men two or three times her age. She thrives when they stare at one another over bubbly Ruinart, everybody trying to hide the fact they’re gouging the net worth of those that share their table behind thin smiles and empty niceties.

And if at times her life is a long obstacle course, some time spent in the lab finding a cure for an obscure disease is all she needs to be reminded why it’s worth it. 

Lena Luthor  _ loves  _ her job, but it hasn’t always been this way.

She hated it when it was thrust upon her shoulders. When, fresh out of MIT and in the midst of writing her first grant application letter, she’d been called back home. When she’d gone from the Luthor equivalent of a “plus one” to the person tasked with saving the family business. 

She certainly  _ hates  _ it now as she makes her way back to her office, hounded by a group of journalists her security team struggles to hold back. Her track record with press conferences is abysmal - the ones that actually went off as planned fit on the fingers of one hand - but this is definitely one of the worst in recent memory. 

All it took for the press to descend on her like vultures was a document. One of Lex’s abandoned projects, a dusty folder mailed to the offices of the  _ National City Gazette _ , three blocks downtown. 

It’s amazing how a few scattered pages can cause such a headache, but what’s worse is what that means. There’s a mole among her staff, and Lena has no idea who it could be. 

The made-to-order Bruno Magli heels, the dove-grey tailored blouse and charcoal pencil skirt she chose to wear project an image of immaculate professionalism, nothing but a thin veneer to disguise the turmoil Lena feels within. The sharp eyeliner and dark red lipstick the PR team had picked out for her are a statement of their own. A self-assured exterior, she’d been told, to show the public that things are well in hand. Under control. In truth, the armor is paper-thin pretence, and as the reporter from the  _ Chronicler _ yells her name and asks for further comment, Lena quickens her pace. 

They will spin that how they wish, say that she is running both from the public and the truth, but Lena can’t help it.

On days like today, Lena hates her job, and the weight of it becomes unbearable.

Only when the double doors that lead into her office come into view does Lena dare to throw a look behind her shoulder. Her security detail has formed a cordon to keep the reporters at a distance, but when they see her turn, a flock of cameras is raised, and she is blinded by their flashes.

Come morning, her own face will stare up at her from a dozen front pages, and Lena spares a moment to wonder how she’ll look. 

By the time she gets to the door, Jess is already holding it open for her. Lena offers her secretary a grateful nod and makes her way inside, reassured by the fact that Jess will guard her privacy as steadfastly as ever. 

Finally alone in the safety of her office, Lena allows her self-control to slip a little. 

Leaning back against the door, she pinches the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger, ribs flaring in a deep sigh. The headache of this new scandal has become quite physical, a pressure that builds, and builds, and  _ builds  _ behind her eyes. Her jaws hurt from all the clenching, and she’s sure her oral hygienist will have a thing or two to say on that. 

Her shoulders slump forward in defeat.

“Hey.” A soft greeting drifts to her from deeper in the room, and Lena tenses, mouth bitter and stomach full of lead. She’s suddenly afraid that one of the reporters managed to sneak past Jess’s iron-like surveillance, to catch Lena in this moment of intimate weakness.

“Sorry.” The voice adds, slightly sheepish.

Kara is waiting for her in the office, and her sight fills Lena with relief. She’s lounging with her back to one of the big windows, haloed in the burnished tint of the late autumn afternoon. At this hour, the sun slants into the office at an angle, dusting everything in gold. Its light seems to gather around Kara, turning her into an avatar of the gods above.

Lena doesn’t know whether the dramatic backdrop was a conscious choice, but it definitely has an effect. 

Kara beckons, and she walks to her full of trepidation, shedding her worries one by one, until they are standing close enough to touch. Close enough that she can feel the warmth of Kara’s body almost-but-not-quite pressing against hers. A shiver races down her stockinged thighs, the skin beneath the sheer material prickly with gooseflesh and hot at the same time. 

Lena swallows and a few moments go by before words form in her mouth.

“You came.” 

Kara smiles, brighter than the sun setting behind her.

“Of course I did. You thought I wouldn’t?”

The truth was that Lena had feared so, even though she’d known Kara would eventually see her message. 

She’d woken that morning - still blissfully unaware of what was about to crash down on her once she reached the office - to the mattress shifting, and Kara trying to mouse her way out of the bedroom, Super suit draped over one shoulder.

It was so early when she’d left Lena’s bed, that daylight hadn’t yet grasped the sky between pink fingers. Kara was a confused silhouette in the half-dark, and Lena had blinked up at her from the edge of sleep, struggling to understand why she stood in the middle of the room and wasn’t spooning her beneath the bed sheets. 

It reminded Lena that she’d hated Kara too for a while. She doesn’t anymore, but things between them can sometimes be tender, especially when Kara’s super-heroing wakes Lena up at 5 a.m.

When Kara had realized that Lena was awake, she had retraced her steps and lingered long enough for a brief kiss. 

_ (She’d tucked her in, and in the semi-dark, Lena had felt more than seen her smile. “Go back to sleep, pretty girl,” Kara’d said with fondness. “I’ll see you tonight.” Those simple words held more than a hint of promise.) _

Lena had fretted all day - even after hell broke loose - her eyes wandering to the sky above the city whenever she’d found herself next to a window.

Because Lena Luthor may hate her job and love it, but she  _ lives _ for the days Supergirl decides to roll her skirt up well past her thighs, and her stockings down. And she dies for what comes after; for the cold kiss of the glass tabletop through the thin material of her blouse as she’s bent over her desk, and for the dirty words that stream - filthy hot - next to her ear while Kara does with her whatever she deems fit.

It hasn't always been this way. At first Lena had tried to keep business and pleasure strictly separate, but Kara's hands had wondered, followed by her mouth, and she was soon unravelled. 

She can't pinpoint when the kinky sex had started, not exactly. The idea didn’t dawn on them all of a sudden, the way a light switch is thrown on in the dark. It had been more of a landslide, maybe, one small gesture setting off a chain reaction, until she and Kara had found themselves tumbling down that path. 

When they’d started dating, Kara had been just  _ Kara _ . A lovely, timid girl with a disarming smile. Charming and sweet and full of the sort of selfless kindness few are blessed with. The kind that leads her to volunteer at a local soup kitchen a few times a month, or makes her bring a box of doughnuts into CatCo once a week just because she can.

The way Kara approached sex was kind, too. Shy, almost. It had taken weeks for them to move past heated make-out sessions in the back of Lena’s car, and when they had been ready to, Lena had been told who Kara  _ really  _ was. 

In retrospect, her carefulness made a lot of sense. She’d been afraid of hurting Lena, because she  _ could _ .

The first time she’d let Kara into her bed - after most of their pieces had been picked up and glued together - things were completely different. Kara fucked her into the mattress with desperate abandon, ripping orgasm after orgasm from her chest. Until Lena, aching all over and exhausted, had gone slack into her arms, begging her to stop. Screaming - as the pleasure edged into warm pain - that she couldn’t take it anymore. 

It felt as though there was a different woman in bed with her, a changeling whose similarities to the Kara she was used to ended at appearances. Upon seeing the bruises she had left on her pale skin, Kara had profusely apologized, but Lena shushed her protests and, tentatively, asked for more. 

One could say that had been the start of it.

And now… Well, now there's something perversely satisfying in the idea of asking Kara to fucking rail her on the desk, with only a closed door between them and a bunch of slavering reporters. 

“Your thoughts are very loud.” Kara runs a thumb across her brow, smoothing away the creases that took up residence on it. “This will blow over,” she adds, gently, fingers trailing further down, along the tense line of Lena’s jaw. “You know that, right?” 

“Mmmh.” Lena makes a noncommittal sound deep in her throat. She can’t help but sink into the touch. 

“You’ve been working so hard lately, I had something special planned for you tonight.” Kara pulls Lena to her chest. “But maybe you could use the distraction now. Get your mind off of it all for a little while.”

Kara tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yes. I think that’s exactly what you need.”

So far, Lena has managed to convince Kara that rough sex is best kept out of L-Corp, but this evening, her Kryptonian lover seems to have other ideas. 

One hand clasped around her elbow, Kara leads her to the desk. Lena clings to her throughout, and when Kara bends her head down to capture her lips, the tiniest noise escapes her. The kiss deepens, and the sound is promptly swallowed, Kara’s tongue slipping with ease between Lena’s open, gasping lips. Breath catches in her throat, and her lungs forget their function for long moments, the lack of air narrowing her vision to a tunnel at the end of which only Kara exists. 

She’s bowed over the desk at a familiar angle, Kara’s hand holding her in place by the nape of her neck. The shock of her cheek striking the smooth glass surface reminds Lena she should breathe, and she sucks in a lungful of air, better bracing herself against the table. 

She’s promptly robbed of breath again, when Kara bunches her skirt up and rips the nylons underneath to shreds. 

“I think I know just the thing.” 

Kara’s other hand splays suggestively over Lena’s upturned ass, a silent promise of what’s to come. Another moan pushes past her tongue, and she has to take her bottom lip between her teeth to hold it back. 

Her dominant’s proposition is utterly unbalancing - Lena feels like clockwork with a wrench put through the cogs. She can distinctly see the line that they’re about to cross, and the consequences scare her. They arouse her, too - the slick running past her La Perla set makes  _ that _ very clear. 

It’s what Kara does next, that helps Lena make up her mind about it. 

Her lover doesn’t push her for an immediate answer. Instead, Kara keeps her there, steady and secure against the reassuring heaviness of the furniture. Despite being bent ass up, her cunt hidden from view by a laughably thin scrap of expensive Italian lace, Lena is feeling safe. Free to look deep within herself and choose whether consent is given or withheld. 

Putting more of her weight onto the table, Lena crosses her arms under her head as a pillow, and gives Kara a tiny nod. For a fleeting moment, their eyes are locked together, and in that single stare, entire sentences are spoken, affirmations made. 

Mistress awakens within Kara’s eyes, and they darken to midnight. A remote sort of light burns deep within them, the glow of a sun long dead brought back into existence by Lena’s own surrender. 

In moments such as this, Lena can glimpse the ash-smeared fingers of the ghosts Kara carries in her chest reach out into the living world. Mistress holds her phantoms back with the briefest, gentlest smile, but when Lena submits and lets her know she can loosen the restraints, the smile becomes thin-lipped, the cast of her mouth cruel.

It is liberating to be at the mercy of a goddess, and when the sun dies at their backs, Lena shuts her eyes, anticipating the loud smack of Kara’s hand over her flesh.

She doesn’t have to wait for long.

Lena has discovered something intimate in the watercolor bruises Kara marks her with. A catharsis in the radiating twinge that lingers for days after, as the hurts her dominant administers with care make themselves known in hundreds of small ways. There’s the tender, thoughtful way Lena has to sit after a spanking, and the pull of the pinkened skin where Kara’s nails have dug along her spine. 

Bruises have a language of their own. They hurt the worst when blood first rises to the surface, turning the skin an angry red. The pain is sharp, then, and flares up at the slightest pressure. A day or so after the injury has been inflicted, the red darkens to purple-blue and the pain settles deep into her flesh, a dull, throbbing ache that sears the muscle. After that, the purple fades to pale tones of yellow-green, and then to nothing. 

Lena wears her stripes with pride. Their measured violence, firmly regulated and agreed upon, is a testament to the amount of self-control Kara can exact over her powers. 

Another thing she’s learned is that the way Kara strikes her ass cheeks hinges on her mood. When punishment is required, the flat of Mistress’s hand falls hard and fast on unwarmed skin, similarly to an unexpected downpour. If she is deserving of reward, however, the spanking becomes leisurely and drawn out, affording Lena ample time to count and thank her Mistress for each slap and the attention.

When Kara’s aim is to arouse her, her hand lingers on Lena’s ass after each strike, fingers playing along her soft curves, and under her buttocks. Reassurance is then rubbed into the small of Lena’s spine, and words of praise are whispered in her ear - unless Kara is too busy lightly sucking on it. 

But tonight, there is no rhyme nor reason to their games. 

Mistress strikes her hard enough to make the desk beneath her rattle, then she gentles, hand drifting dangerously close to Lena’s soaked-through panties, before picking up the tempo once again. 

It goes on, seemingly for hours, but when the beating stops and she is able to lift herself up on shaky elbows, a measure of dusk is still pouring through the windows. 

Her body is a gnawing, open  _ wound _ , and the world around her has grown soft and out of focus. Desaturated, like a photograph that’s been left too long into the sun. The press conference, the leaked files, Lena can barely comprehend any of these thoughts. They are mundane things that flow through her as water would. Just a river passing her by. 

Just what she wanted, and what Kara had understood she needed without the necessity for words.

“Thank you.” Her voice is a croak, her throat as bruised as the rest of her, although Lena is sure she’s not been screaming. 

“You’re very welcome, pretty girl.” Mistress’s smile loses a little of its edge, and mellows into benevolence. "Your ass is so lovely all reddened like this. You cannot feel it now, but come tomorrow it'll sting whenever you move." She bends down, covering Lena's body with her own, and nuzzles into her hair. "Just a small reminder that I'm with you always, whatever happens."

Lena must be in a more fragile state than she had thought, because big, fat tears start rolling down her cheeks.

“Shhhh,” Mistress soothes, and pushes strands of sweaty hair away from Lena’s brow. “You’re doing just fine, darling. You can let it all go.” Kara resurfaces, arms sneaking under Lena’s body to cradle her close. “I’ve got you.” 

It takes a few shuddering breaths, her chest pushing and pulling with mute sobs, but gradually, Lena’s tears dry out. 

She feels better. Emptied out. Ready to be filled. Kara sees it, too. 

"Now be a good girl and stand still for me. I want to see how wet our little…  _ warm up _ made you." 

For a time, all Mistress does is drag her fingers along the angles of her shoulder blades, doubling back to climb down the ridges of her spine. The sheer material of the blouse Lena is wearing is so soaked through with sweat, she's sure it's become see-through. Certainly, she feels she's wearing nothing at all under Mistress's wandering touch. 

Another sort of aching stirs in Lena’s bones, tickled into being by Mistress’s roaming hands. Heat gathers in her belly, and her cunt clenches around nothing. 

She’s about ready to start begging when Kara’s fingers finally,  _ finally  _ catch into the edges of her panties, pulling them aside. 

Cold air sweeps the swollen, dripping folds of Lena’s cunt, and she hisses at the sensation. Her hips arch back and up involuntarily, but Mistress doesn’t seem to mind the fact she’s moved. After all, the shift is offering her a better view. 

“Beautiful.” Kara’s voice is a low, almost predatory rumble. Lena doesn’t dare turn, but knows exactly what she’d see if she did. Mistress peering down at her, bottom lip trapped between her teeth in appreciation, her eyes full of lust. 

The instant Mistress  _ touches  _ her, Lena sees stars. Her outer lips are parted, and she drips on Kara’s hand, and on the floor below. When her breathing starts to hitch and stutter, Kara presses closer to her opening, teasing just a little, before moving on to circle her clit lightly. Lena’s hips buck, and she has to bite the inside of her cheek bloody not to moan.

Aware that some reporters may still be lingering outside to catch a glimpse of her leaving the office, she fumbles back with one hand until her fingers brush her Mistress’s forearm. 

“I don’t think I can keep quiet, Miss,” she admits with a humiliated blush. 

“Oh?” Lena wouldn’t tolerate the shit-eating attitude coming from anybody else but Kara. “Well, we can remedy that.” 

A sound of ripping cloth follows the words, and Lena finds herself presented with what’s left of her lace. 

“Open up, sweetheart.” Mistress pushes the ball of fabric to her lips. It tastes salty-sweet with her arousal. “And bite down on this.” 

The suggestion is obscene. Demeaning. It makes her gush again. 

And so Lena does what she is told. 

It’s just as well, because moments later the pounding of her cunt is eased by sudden fullness. Mistress fucks her with two fingers, and the amount of slick coating her hand makes everything seamless. 

Lena is grateful for the panties that suffocate her moans, but as the rhythm and roughness of Kara’s thrusts increases, she worries it won’t be enough. The press may well have given up and left, herded away by her security staff, but at some point, the night shift guards will make the rounds, and check her office, too. 

Admittedly, the thought of being caught, the idea that someone may walk in and catch them in the act at any given moment is thrilling. It causes a burst of adrenaline to writhe in her guts. 

Feeling her body open up beneath the onslaught, Mistress adds a third finger; then, without asking for permission, or letting her adjust, wiggles in a fourth. 

Like that, Lena is blissfully stretched, almost to the limit of what she can take. In private, Kara has used bigger strapons to fuck her - also in her ass - but that was only after hours of excruciating buildup. 

Mistress adds even more to the stimulus, flicking Lena’s straining clit with the tip of her thumb. Each time she does it, Lena’s hips drive her backward into Kara’s pumping hand. 

“Fuck,” Mistress grunts in effort, and tangles her free hand in Lena’s hair, half-undoing her ponytail in the process. “Aren’t you a needy little thing, tonight.” 

“Please.” Lena spits the panties out, gasping both for air and her release. “Please, Mistress…” 

“Please what?” She hates Kara a little. Her and her tone of smug faux-innocence. “I want to hear you say it.” 

“More.” She sounds far too desperate and high-pitched, but can’t help it. “I need more,  _ please _ .”

“Greedy.” Mistress buries her face against the side of Lena’s tense throat, but thankfully obliges and slides her thumb inside of Lena with the rest of her fingers. “Now come for me like the pretty  _ slut _ you are.”

Kara never used that word before. In the heat of emotion, she calls Lena sweetheart, or darling. Pretty thing. But the derogatory term strikes a chord in her tonight, and she’s unmade. 

The orgasm breaks over her spine in a wave that swallows her whole. She rocks with it, walls tightening and rippling around Mistress’s closed fist, mouth open in a silent scream. She’s never felt quite so  _ dirty  _ in her entire life, but she’s not ashamed of it. 

If anything, Lena has a mind to beg for  _ more _ .

She’s still a shivery, sore mess when the door opens.

“Miss Luthor.” Jess marches in, eyes fixed on the tablet she’s holding, stylus at the ready. “There’s a conflict in your schedule we need to discuss…” She raises her eyes, and as they take in the scene, they widen, showing the white in its entirety. 

The three of them stare at one another, frozen in a comical tableau. Like extras out of one of Veronese’s Renaissance paintings. Lena is at a loss, not knowing what to say, and Kara isn’t making things any better. 

She’s still buried to the hilt inside her cunt, and Lena feels the smirk take shape against her cheek just before her Mistress crooks her fingers  _ just so _ . Tiny pulses of pleasure race through her as she clenches, and all Lena can do is look at her secretary, and be stupidly slack-jawed.

“But I can come back later.” 

Expression blank, Jess discreetly backs away, pulling the door closed behind her. 

A raise is  _ really  _ overdue.

Once Lena is sure Jess is gone, she breaks the silence.

“Maybe I need to start working from home more often.”

“Maybe you should.” There’s a pause, and then Kara adds, almost as an afterthought. “Maybe next time I fuck you in the office, I should make you wear a butt plug for the day.”

At the words, Lena nearly comes again, and only the white-knuckled grasp she has on the edge of her desk saves her from falling.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to see what happens when Lena is made to wear that butt plug? Sound off below.
> 
> join me[ on Tumblr](https://kendrene.tumblr.com/) for more gay nonsense!


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